


The Dreamweaver

by chibi_nightowl



Category: Batman (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: 99 Cent Dreams, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Gen, Memories of Death and Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 08:19:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13783512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/pseuds/chibi_nightowl
Summary: Jason's night terrors grow worse and worse until one night a sign in a dingy store front catches his eye.99 Cent Dreams.What did he have to lose?





	The Dreamweaver

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TaneKore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaneKore/gifts).



> And once again my brain takes me on a wild trip when I should be doing other things. Inspired by [this](http://jaykore.tumblr.com/post/171184079895/feixiu-dreams-on-sale-today-only) over on Tumblr.

It had to be bogus. No one could do what the sign claimed (and for 99 cents no less). Still, if Jason Todd was anything, it was haunted. 

Haunted by dreams of a mother he couldn’t save. A father who didn’t want him. Memories of living on the streets and doing whatever it took to survive. To most, those would be awful enough, but for Jason, they were a walk in the park. Those were the _good_ dreams, messed up as that was. No, his dreams were haunted by impenetrable darkness, flashes of light and searing heat, all with echoes of that cursed laughter. 

_HA HA HA HA HA HA HA_  

It took him a month to finally enter the small, dingy storefront, the little sign with 99 cent dreams flashing in a blacked-out window. The most recent Arkham breakout decided it for him, a week with the Joker on the loose and Jason trying to beat Bruce to him, to finally put an end to that laughter once and for all. 

He still cursed himself for a fool and not doing it when he had the chance. Just one bullet. _One bullet_ , right between his eyes and it would be done. Justice served. 

But he failed. And now the dreams were worse than ever, guilt eating away at his conscience with the dozen more lives lost this time around. Drinking only brought oblivion for so long and he woke more strung out than before. Jason refused drugs of any kind, even over the counter sleep-aids. 

The sign kept flashing in his mind. 

So here he was, hands fisted in the pockets of his heavy leather jacket standing in a small lobby. It was dimly lit and cleaner than he expected. There was a faint scent of lavender in the air, but aside from the typical new age crap he usually associated with places like this, nothing jumped out at him as odd. 

“May I help you?” a politely diffident voice asked from Jason’s right. 

Turning, he spotted another man sitting behind the small checkout counter, a tablet in hand that he idly swiped at rather than meeting Jason’s eyes. The man was young, perhaps around his age or even a bit younger. Overly long black hair fell into his eyes, providing a stark relief against high cheekbones and a narrow, but firm jaw. He must have been silent too long as pale blue eyes looked up to meet his own. 

“May I help you?” he asked again, this time a bit more pointedly. 

“Y-yeah,” Jason finally stuttered out. Those eyes felt like they were staring right through him. He’s been around a few people who were genuinely touched by forces he didn’t understand and they all gave him the same eerie vibe. “The dreams. What’s the catch?” 

The young man shrugged easily, narrow shoulders poking through a too thin sweater. “Easy enough. I give you a nice dream for 99 cents, plus tax. If you like it, I can do it again, but it’s a hell of a lot more expensive the second time around.” White teeth gleamed as he grinned sharply. 

Jason chuckled because wasn’t that always the way? “Start cheap and then price gouge later?” 

“It’s a business. And legal, I might add. No drugs, no hallucinogenics.” 

“What about getting rid of bad dreams?” 

“That’s something we’d have to negotiate.” The grin dimmed as a more business-like expression replaced it. The young man leaned on the counter, folding his hands in front of him. “From the looks of it, you haven’t slept well in a while.” 

“My bags have bags,” Jason agreed, leaning against the counter and staring down at the man. “Is it hypnosis?” 

“No,” the young man replied. “I’m a dreamweaver. I’ll give you want you want for a price.” 

“Monetary?” Because as tarnished as Jason’s soul was, it was still his. 

“Of course,” he replied. “This is a legitimate business. What will it be then? A nice dream for tonight just to see how it works?” 

Jason nibbled his lip, but he already knew his answer. He wouldn’t be in here if he hadn’t already made up his mind. “A nice dream would be great. We’ll see about the rest.” 

“Fair enough. I’ll get you the standard contract then. Make sure to read it.” The man picked up his tablet and swiped the screen again before handing it to Jason. “It’s not long.” 

The fact there was a contract at all had Jason reading it carefully, ready to dissect and analyze every word. But it was a fairly standard contract, nothing out of the ordinary. At the bottom, he tapped his finger in the agreement box and signed his name. 

_Jason Todd_. 

What did it matter if a dead man signed a contract anyway? He wasn’t legally alive, not anymore. He laid down two singles and got his change. 

“Okay,” the man stated, rubbing his hands together. He walked around the counter and gestured for Jason to follow him. “Come sit over here.” 

Over here consisted of two rather comfortable looking chairs. Jason took a seat in one and the man sat in the other. Those pale blue eyes sharpened, taking on a glacial sheen as he stared intently at him. 

“Do I need to do anything?” Jason asked, resisting the urge to fidget. He felt like he was on the receiving end of one of Alfred’s gimlet glares. 

“No, but you can tell me what you’d like to dream about. This way, when you wake up, you’ll know if it worked or not.” 

What did he want to dream about? Jason often wondered what a good dream would be and he had a few candidates. But admitting a couple of them would reveal a little too much about him, so he settled for a simpler one. “I want a dream of something that never was. My dad hanging around being a good dad for a change instead of a shit one. A dream where my mom was never sick and I got to grow up with parents who loved and supported me.” 

“Have you ever dreamed that before?” the dreamweaver asked. He wasn’t blinking, the pale blue color seeping out into the whites of his eyes. 

It should have disturbed Jason, but it didn’t. He felt oddly calm over the entire thing. Like it was a dream… “No,” he admitted slowly. 

“Well, that’ll make it easier then. Just sit still and try not to blink.” 

Easier said than done. But Jason wasn’t Dick and he could keep his ass planted firmly in a chair for five minutes. Which was all it took. There weren’t any odd lapses in time and Jason felt fully aware of himself while the so-called dreamweaver worked. 

The young man finally blinked and sighed, leaning back into his chair. “There. That should do it. Go home, try to relax, and let sleep come naturally.” 

“What if it doesn’t work?” Jason asked as he rose. 

“Then you get your money back.” 

Jason smirked at that. “Satisfaction guaranteed?” 

“Something like that.” The young man blinked again and his eyes went back to normal. 

It suddenly occurred to Jason that he didn’t even know the name of the person he’d just let into his head. Because he _had_ been in his head, that much was certain. “What’s your name?” 

“Tim.” 

Jason held out his hand. “Thanks, Tim. If this works, I’ll be back.” 

Tim accepted his hand with a firm grip of his own, long and lean fingers notwithstanding. “I’ll be seeing you soon then.” 

~*~*~*~

It worked. 

It fucking worked. When Jason woke up the following morning, he felt more refreshed than he had in _years_. And the dream? He rubbed his eyes, trying not to tear up over how perfect it had been. It was a balm on his weary soul, one that he didn’t know he needed. 

He understood now just how Tim’s business worked. The good dream was as addictive as any drug and he’d spent years resisting the temptation of them only to fall without ever snorting or injecting something into his veins. 

But Jason was nothing if not stubborn so it was a good two weeks before he returned to the dingy little shop. 

Tim looked up when he entered. “Hello, Jason. I was expecting you sooner.” 

“I’m sure you were.” 

“How was your dream?” 

“Fucking perfect. Too perfect actually. It was a nice change from reality.” 

“Always is,” Tim agreed easily. “You don’t seem like the type who wants to escape reality though. You accept it for what it is.” 

That was all too true and it disturbed Jason on some level that this perfect stranger picked up on it so fast. “You said last time that you could do something about bad dreams. For a price.” 

Tim nodded. “Taking away dreams is harder than planting the seeds for good ones. There’s memories involved, ones that often have to be relived before they’re able to settle down beneath the surface. I take it you’re a former soldier?” 

It was as close to the truth as Jason was willing to get. And besides, isn’t that what Bruce called him? _A Good Soldier?_ Fuck that. “PTSD induced night terrors,” he said instead of directly answering the question. 

But Tim accepted it as the answer he was looking for. “Okay. My terms for this are a little different than the standard contract you signed last time. For one, we’re going to have a talk first because I need to see exactly what I’m getting into. After that, I’ll make a determination if I _can_ actually help you.” 

Jason eyes narrowed. “And just what stops you from blabbing about what I tell you? You’re not a shrink, so I doubt HIPAA applies here.” 

“Fair enough,” Tim said. “I have a standard NDA we can both sign before you speak with me. Let me get it up.” He pulled out his tablet again and swiped around. 

“You have a contract for everything,” Jason commented. “You go to business school or something?” 

“I did actually,” Tim replied, handing over the tablet for him to read through. He’d already signed it. “A stipulation in the trust my parents set up for me. I could only access the funds after I graduated.” 

“And yet you work in this dump,” Jason muttered as he read. Again, it was a fairly standard agreement, one that he signed again without compunction. 

“Excuse you, this is _my_ dump. Besides, at least in this part of town I can help people who need it rather than those uptown dimwits who only think they do.” 

Tim accepted the tablet and walked around from behind the counter. Rather than head towards the chairs though, he maneuvered around Jason and locked the door behind them. “I don’t think you want to be interrupted, correct?” 

Nope. Jason shook his head. 

They settled into the comfortable chairs once again, Tim steepling his long fingers like any shrink would as he assessed Jason. “Start with whatever feels the most comfortable.” 

Where to start…? What did he want to no longer dream about? There were so many bad memories, ones that fed into each other and twisted things around. At the core of it though, Jason knew it wasn’t the events that led up to his death that were the worst ones. It was what happened after he woke up. The darkness. The weight of all that earth on top of him, his torn and broken fingers scrambling through damp soil, struggling for air, reaching, grasping desperately… 

Jason let out a heavy breath and shook himself out of his head. Tim was watching him closely, but his eyes were still normal. 

“I died,” he finally stated. “And dug myself out of my own grave. All six feet of it and the coffin my adopted father buried me in.” 

The horror behind his words wasn’t lost on Tim, who gripped the arms of his chair tightly. “They didn’t know…?” he asked in desperation. 

“No. If they had, my life would be rather different.” Another game of what if he refused to play because he knew he had Talia to thank for the restoration of his mind. His body may have healed on its own, but his brain couldn’t. He owed her for the Lazarus Pit, as much as the thought still galled him to this day. 

Tim let out a slow breath. “Okay. Okay,” he breathed. “Well, here’s the part where that’s going to suck the most. For both of us, I think. You need to walk me through that memory. I have to be there every step of the way in order to see what I need to do to block it from your dreams.” 

“This is just to stop me from dreaming about it, right?” Jason asked, feeling the need to clarify. “It’s not taking away the memory.” 

“Correct,” Tim nodded. “I can’t away memories, but I can suppress the part of your consciousness that draws upon them when you sleep. I can block that particular one.” 

Leaving him with the beating of a lifetime, an explosion tearing through him, and the Joker’s laughter haunting the rest of his dreams. All in all, it seemed like a fair trade. “Fine. Now let’s talk cost, because I doubt this is gonna be cheap.” 

It isn’t but Jason doesn’t balk at the price Tim stated. Nor did he quibble when Tim said they could get started right now if he wanted to. “I haven’t signed your contract yet,” he joked. 

“To be honest, I’m not ever sure if this is going to work. I’ve never done this with someone with that kind of memory. If it doesn’t, I don’t want to hold you to it.” Tim’s eyes were already starting to bleed out, blue taking over the white. 

“Fair enough. And thanks for at least trying.” Jason settled back in the chair like last time. “What do I need to do this time?” 

“Just sit back and remember. Every single moment. Every feeling. Every taste, every smell.” 

By the end of it, Jason couldn’t stop the tears that were streaming down his face. Tim had been there with him, somehow, watching as he clawed his way to the surface. He choked with him, hurt with him, almost suffocated with him. He felt that pain and desperation upon waking in the coffin with no recollection of how he got there. Of realizing he’d been buried alive. 

That was the worst part, Jason decided. The small space of the coffin, the darkness so heavy it took on a tangible presence all of its own. 

And the silence. Oh, the silence… 

Tim was crying right along with him. “You were so young,” he breathed. “My god. Hardly more than a child.” 

Jason rubbed his eyes, smearing tears and snot on the sleeve of his jacket and not caring in the slightest. “Yeah,” he managed to get out. 

The man across from him sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Jason, I need to tell you something,” he finally said. 

“What?” He braced himself. This didn’t sound good. 

“I know who you are,” Tim admitted. 

Jason narrowed his eyes. “Of course, you do. I signed a contract…” 

But Tim was already shaking his head. “No, I mean…I know you’re the Red Hood. I know you used to be Robin,” he said in a rush. 

“What?” Jason growled, rising to his feet in one swift movement, looming over the still seated man. “Start talking.” 

Tim did. And his story was just as incredible as his own. A young boy who’d seen too much, who had his own wild talents to deal with, and yet still found time to idolize one Dick Grayson and put together the connection that many in this world would kill for. The identities of Robin. Of Nightwing. The Red Hood. And Batman. 

Jason sat back down, his body as heavy as lead as he tried to absorb everything. “Well, shit,” he finally said. And then started laughing at his next thought. 

“What?” Tim asked warily. 

“If you know all this, then I suppose I can share with you the memory of _how_ I actually died,” he replied viciously. 

Tim paled at the implication. “Let’s take it one step at a time, shall we?” 

Jason cracked open a weary eye. “You still want to do this?” 

“More than ever,” Tim stated. “I’ve wanted to help you guys for years. And now’s my chance to finally do it.” 

“You’re still charging me, right?” 

“The next session is free.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> For my non-US readers, HIPAA is a regulation within the US that protects your healthcare information from being shared with third parties unless your authorization or consent to do so is provided.


End file.
